


Purification

by ancslove



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, M/M, Rape as Revenge, Referenced Achilles/Patroclus, Ritual Public Sex, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/pseuds/ancslove
Summary: Kingdoms fall, but the gods will have their due.  Apollo seizes his opportunity after Achilles murders an Achaean soldier, and demands a terrible offering in recompense.
Relationships: Achilles & Apollo, Achilles/Agamemnon (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Achilles/Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Achilles/Greek Army, Achilles/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Idomeneus/Achiles/Meriones, achilles/antilochus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Purification

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrospecial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrospecial/gifts).



"He was a loudmouthed cur, foul of face and fouler of tongue, who should have known to be silent in the presence of his betters." At odds with his harsh words, Achilles' strides towards the Temple of Apollo were leisurely. The task was distasteful, simply because he saw no real need for it, but it was a welcome respite from being surrounded by the rest of the Achaean leaders, who were loath to leave him alone after Patroclus' death.

"Queen Penthesilia was a daughter of Ares and a noble foe who earned our respect," he continued. "Thersites had no right to dishonor her as she died."

"I don't disagree, my friend," said Odysseus. "But he was Diomedes' cousin, in spite of his demeanor. Best to make whatever offerings are required and be purified, and then we can all resume this godforsaken war. And next time, save your famous ire for the Trojans."

***

The divine ruling was surprisingly, abhorrently clear. In recompense for his wrathful slaying of an Achaean soldier, even one as loathsome as Thersites, Achilles must submit his body to the Achaean army as punishment. Only then would he be purified of his crime. Only then could the Achaean cause progress. So Apollo decreed. Achilles stood rigid before the altar, as Apollo, visible only to him, smirked. Beside him, Odysseus patted his shoulder in somewhat amused sympathy, unaware of their divine guest. 

“Hard luck, that; but it could be worse. We all remember Aulis.”

“Your body isn’t about to be offered. Do not speak,” Achilles gritted, eyes fixed on the god. Apollo’s smirk broadened to a malicious grin as he circled him, and Achilles understood. This wasn’t about Thersites. This was revenge. Punishment for Hector. Retribution for Troy, so doomed to soon fall. 

_Revenge? Mortal folly. This is Nemesis._ Apollo hissed in his ear.

 _Very well,_ Achilles thought in return. _Kingdoms fall, but the gods will have their due._ A lesson his mother had taught him long ago, and Achilles tried to hold to that as he and Odysseus made their way back to the ships. Give the god his due now, endure unbroken, and he would be purified, no honor lost.

* * *

At dawn on the appointed day, Achilles walked fearlessly to the sacred site and disrobed. The beach shone in the pale sunlight, pristine and innocent. Before the assembled Argive host, he stretched himself out on the altar. From sunrise to sunset, his body was to be the new altar, and the deeds which took place inside and around him would be offered to the god. At dusk, he would be purified. Above the murmur of the crowd and the crash of the waves upon the shore, he could hear the priest Calchas give prayers to Apollo, calling on the god to accept this day's offering and show mercy. Odysseus consecrated his naked flesh, and Achilles tried not to flinch as oil dripped down the crack of his arse, and then it was time for the sacrifice to begin. 

Diomedes, as the aggrieved kinsman, would go first. Nudging Achilles’ thighs wider, he took his position, strong hands spreading him open. Achilles clenched his fist as Diomedes entered him in one powerful thrust. The burn of being forced open made his eyes water. Diomedes rode him forcefully, thrusting in and out over and over, with enough fury to drive Achilles’ hips into the stone beneath him. Hot breath washed over the back of his neck when Diomedes grunted in time to his thrusts. Soon, his pace quickened, driving deeply into Achilles’ body. Until finally, he gave one more powerful thrust, and spilled his seed. Achilles’ eyes closed as he felt the hot liquid inside him.

Odysseus, his sponsor in this ritual, was next. 

“Be easy,” he breathed, too low for the assembled masses to catch. “I won’t hurt you.” 

He meant well, and that was the only reason Achilles didn’t knock his misplaced kindness back down his throat. True to his word, Odysseus entered him gently, Diomedes’ spend easing his way. Instead of thrusting, Odysseus began a slow, rocking motion. Achilles moaned softly, heat pooling in his groin as he moved with Odysseus. Odysseus’ hand stroked over Achilles’ hip, then slid beneath to grasp his filling manhood. Shaking his head, Achilles tried to squirm away, but Odysseus held him in place, whispering soft promises that Achilles had no interest in hearing. Pleasure spread through his lower belly as Odysseus filled and enveloped him. Biting his lip, Achilles bucked his hips, unsure whether he was trying to escape or seeking more. They rocked in tandem, Odysseus stroking Achilles’ cock, until they climaxed together. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, Achilles couldn’t say what had just happened. It was almost a relief when Odysseus stepped away and Agamemnon claimed his turn. 

“Lord Apollo smiles on me today.”

The King of Men, visibly vibrating with glee, showed no mercy. Spreading his thighs wider, he entered with bruising force. Achilles clenched his jaw as the vicious thrusts threatened to tear him apart, but he preferred this pain to the muddled pleasure that Odysseus’ misguided friendship had elicited. Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head back, and then Agamemnon’s lips covered his. Achilles struggled against this new assault, but Agamemnon’s bulk pinned him down on the stone altar. He couldn’t breathe around the thick tongue filling his mouth, but he could see the assembled troops watching. Furious humiliation flushed his face down to his chest, and he could do nothing but offer up his rage to the god.

“Mmh, you’re beautiful like this. So tight and hot around my cock. Soft skin and pretty lips. I bet even Paris would agree. I’ll give you to him, and my brother can have his wife back.”

“But then how will you claim your gold?” Achilles hissed.

When Agamemnon finished, he pulled out to spill across Achilles’ back. Distantly, Achilles heard someone complain about the mess as Agamemnon walked away. 

The remaining kings and princes took their turns. Menelaus only gave a few short thrusts before coming swiftly. He took no pleasure in the act, but was willing to do anything that would hasten Troy’s destruction. Great Ajax entered with enough force to drive the breath from Achilles' throat. Ajax’s rutting was powerful and crude, but economical, large hands yielding bruises on Achilles' hips. Upon finishing, he gave a friendly pat to Achilles' shoulder as he departed. Young Antilochus’ nervous fumblings were more difficult to endure.

“Do your duty,” Achilles muttered when Antilochus’ hesitant pawing threatened to snap already frayed nerves. “The gods demand, and we all must obey.”

Afterward, Idomeneus’ experienced coupling was a welcome change. He and Meriones took Achilles together, and for the first time during this ordeal, Achilles opened his mouth for Meriones’ erection. Meriones’ hands smoothed his hair and guided his movements. Tuning out the rumble of the waiting crowd, Achilles licked and sucked the sensitive head. They moved inside him as if they were one. Closing his eyes, he could pretend it was Patroclus enjoying his mouth, Patroclus inside him, grounding him. When Meriones came, he swallowed the bitter mouthful down and dedicated the offering to Apollo.

The ritual continued. Meriones’ daring inspired others to claim his mouth. Most of the kings didn’t speak much to him, other than to perhaps direct his mouth. Hot semen ran down his legs and splashed on his back and thighs. Eventually, Achilles’ lower body grew numb to the repeated use. Each encounter blended into the next, and Achilles focused instead on the rhythmic crash of the waves. A sea breeze periodically washed over him, carrying away the sweat and stench. 

The last king finished inside him. Achilles exhaled slowly against the rock altar. 

_Surely you don’t believe this is finished?_ Apollo hovered before him, radiating bright malice. The divine voice seared into his mind, settling inside his head as if it belonged there. _The army deserves their justice, after all. You killed one of their own, and you wouldn’t want morale to suffer if the men feel underappreciated._

_Your concern for our men is wholly unnecessary, my lord._

_All who want you may have you. Until you are drenched in their essences._

Calchas made the god's will known. The rank and file were ready and eager, after hours of watching Achilles being taken by the leaders. Achilles fought not to struggle, as strong hands pulled him from the altar. The kings had been, for the most part, clinical and efficient, but the men were hungry for it. They took him in groups, manhandling him into position and fighting to get between his thighs. The earlier numbness was gone, chased away by a pain Achilles hadn't known existed. Apollo still watched, and Achilles found it easier to focus his mind on the god, rather than on the acts happening upon his body.

_For once, Agamemnon was right. You are lovely like this. Troy will surely rejoice when they hear of today's deeds._

_Troy won't rejoice for long. She will reap tenfold the indignities of today. Nothing you do here will change her fate. And will you rend your divine robes and raise your voice to Olympus when she burns, or will you simply avert your gaze and look for a new favourite city?_ Achilles taunted.

_You won't live to see that day._

_Of course not. But I will make it happen. I will strip Troy bare with the strength of my arm. I will erase her allies and mainstays one by one, until nothing remains but the empty husk, ready to crumble into dust and flame._

Apollo's eyes flashed terribly, glowing molten gold. _Do you think your men will follow you into the field, after this? After they remember how you felt beneath them, how your body, in all its strength and beauty, welcomed their manhoods and their seed. After they've seen you reduced to lower than a gutter whore?_

A large man, shaggy and coarse, reached for his face, and the god vanished. Brought back to the world of men, Achilles opened his mouth to accept the soldier's cock. The one currently riding him from behind climaxed with a shout, and another stepped up to take his place. Buffeted between them, Achilles tried to relax and ride out the assault. A third man forced his legs wider apart, and Achilles tried to accommodate him. But he stiffened when he felt a second blunt head at his entrance. The man pushed inside the already filled hole, and the accompanying agony which speared through his body brought tears to Achilles' eyes. He could only be grateful that the erection in his mouth stifled his cries. The three soldiers rode him together while others surrounded him, groping his limbs and pulling his hair as they awaited their turn. When they came, all three opted to spray his body with their come.

Groups came and went in waves of frenzied lust, and it seemed to Achilles that all pretext of divine offering was lost. The air was thick with the stench of violent sex and the grunts and moans of rutting men. It took everything in him not to fight them off, make them all pay for the insult and humiliating pain they inflicted. Squeezing his eyes shut, Achilles forced himself to submit to the god's demand. All who acted here today did so according to Apollo's wish, and Achilles could not refuse a divine command. So he swallowed down the indignation along with their seed and his own bile, and let the offering continue. Fingers and then cocks shoved into his mouth. His legs were grabbed and pulled, until Achilles thought they would tear him to pieces. More fingers prodded his raw, used hole, and the squelch of mingled come inside him seemed to fill Achilles' ears. Frequently, he found himself with two cocks in his hole and two in his mouth, while more rubbed against his exposed, stretched body. It was difficult to breathe, crushed below each group of soldiers. Sweat poured down on him from the bodies of the soldiers exerting themselves, fucking into him with greedy abandon. Beyond the pain, and present even when he was able to block out the physical sensations, humiliation he could not vanquish and fury he wasn't allowed to sate writhed in his breast. A gutter whore, Apollo had called him, and Achilles feared the god spoke true.

 _Courage, my warrior,_ whispered a voice, a soothing balm to his spirit. Athena didn't show herself, but Achilles could feel her presence all around the beach.

 _Will I die here, my lady?_ More come shot down his throat, choking him. 

_That is not your destiny. You will defeat this, as you have every other challenge to your glory._

_What glory can I possibly retain after today? Far-seeing Apollo has done for me._

_King Priam has called on his last foreign ally. The Ethiopians march as we speak, and your sword will be their greeting. So have courage, my favourite. This is not your end._

An image formed behind his eyes: a man, dark-skinned and handsome. _Memnon,_ whispered the goddess. _Son of the Dawn, yours for the taking._

Achilles held to that promise as the ordeal continued. More cocks stuffing him at all ends, gagging him with their girth, pounding his proud body into the dirt, and leaving him sticky and defiled with their spend. He tucked the name _Memnon_ deep in his heart, as the soldiers tore into him, fucking him over and over and over until he sobbed, tears hidden among the semen glazing his face. Memnon would be his salvation, his last glory. And then he could finally join Patroclus in the world below.

At last, the sun set, bringing an end to the ritual. The crowd dispersed even before Calchas and Odysseus made the final prayers. Achilles rose on shaky limbs, drenched in the army's fluids. Purified. He was gratified that at least no one dared look him in the eye. To his right, his mother's kingdom whispered in his ear, as welcoming as ever. And in the distance, Troy’s walls beckoned. The sea would cleanse away the physical evidence, and his sword would erase the memory. He will wash away this shame in blood.


End file.
